


First Snowfall

by prince_dejah



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, It's fluff for them, M/M, Mild Language, Old Married Couple, One Shot, Post-Canon, Smoking, a lot of kicking and yelling, all gay and happy here, but it's for the plot, but mixed with honest confessions, i know numbers doesn't smoke like that, i'm also ignoring how season 1 ends, this is from numbers perspective, which means, wrenchers - Freeform, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_dejah/pseuds/prince_dejah
Summary: Expecting Wrench to slide into bed next to him, he was surprised when Wrench tossed two tickets on his lap. He looked at the tickets, frowned, then looked back at Wrench who sat down opposite to him on the bed. He took his Glock off the nightstand and was idly cleaning it, clearly not trying to address what he just gave Numbers. Numbers whacked Wrench with the tickets on his knee to make him look up."What the fuck is this?" He signed."What does it look like, smart guy?" Wrench signed back impatiently.Numbers scoffed and read the information again. Two tickets for the opening of Swan Lake this Friday night at seven thirty.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	First Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> Wrench takes Numbers to the ballet. They’re an old bickering couple at this point, and grossly in love. I’m a sap.
> 
> I projected my own experience with ballet onto Numbers, I have a best friend who is dating a professional ballerina, actually saw swan lake, yet I still know fuck-all about it. Also as a disclaimer, I don't communicate in ASL so what I wrote is probably not hella accurate, please let me know if there are obvious glaring errors!
> 
> I haven’t hyper fixated on a ship this hard in a hot minute and I’m so sad most of the fandom is dead lmao if you’re active in it, hit me up!!!
> 
> (There are three links to images of some specific objects I wrote about embedded in the fic)

Wrench had come home later that evening; it had been raining out and his curls stuck to his forehead. He shrugged off his jacket after placing a grocery bag on the counter, it was a windbreaker, and not his usual fringed coat. Numbers wouldn’t admit it, but he actually liked that old mangey thing.

_They were out of M-E-R-L-O-T_. Wrench signed as he unpacked the groceries. _I got white._

_It won’t taste as good with the steak. But if it’s alcohol, I’ll drink it._ Numbers responded. He had just finished cooking and was placing the food on the kitchen table. 

Most of their stuff in the apartment had been Numbers originally. The fancy shot glasses, the wooden bookshelves, the cast iron skillet. But Wrench had brought a few of his things when they finally had moved in together. One of them was the wooden kitchen [table](https://www.thebedstation.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/medium/1000x660/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/s/m/small_dining_table_1.png) he had made some years ago. It was small, only sat the two of them, but it was sturdy and well crafted. It now had scratches and marks, mostly from when they were drunk and messing around with various knives, and it also had cigarette burns, mostly from Numbers. But it was still solid. Still held the plates and silverware. 

Their apartment was small and old, but it was in a part of town where no one asked questions and the rent was paid in cash. It was on the third floor and had windows that overlooked a little park. Wrench liked to open them when it was warm enough to get a little breeze going. Numbers was always cold and never had them open unless he was chain smoking. 

It was late November, the trees were rustling outside, dead leaves scattering in the evening breeze. There was the feeling of winter on the air, as there always seemed to be in the Midwest, its icy presence a grim reminder of what was to come, even in the setting autumn sun.

Wrench grabbed a corkscrew and poured them wine. They ate their dinner in comfortable silence, occasionally signing about mundane topics, things on TV, the changing seasons. The wine was actually not bad, neither was the steak and roasted vegetables. Numbers had tried out a new recipe, he wasn’t nearly as good of a cook as Wrench was, but it was pretty good. Wrench gathered up the dishes while Numbers put away the leftovers in Tupperware containers. 

Numbers made his way into the bedroom and showered. It had been a long day, they had been doing recon on a target for the past few days, and once again, Wrench had to be sure this guy was the right guy. So that meant longer stakeouts than usual, which meant Numbers was more agitated than usual. Today had been no different, their target had done the same shit he had been doing all week, nothing worth killing a guy over. Apparently, he had been talking about leaking information, but hadn’t actually done it. Fargo wanted him gone by the end of the week. Numbers was ready to just get it over with, but Wrench had to be sure. So when a long afternoon of nothing went by, Wrench stayed behind to continue monitoring, and told Numbers to go home and cook, that he would be there soon. 

Numbers dried off his hair, it was getting too long, he thought as he climbed into bed. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes with the intention of smoking quickly before Wrench came back, but couldn’t find his lighter, he was always losing them. After checking several pants and coat pockets, he gave up in a huff and climbed back into bed, crossing his arms. He was starting to doze off when he heard Wrench turn off the kitchen lights and come into the bedroom. Expecting Wrench to slide into bed next to him, he was surprised when Wrench tossed two tickets on his lap. He looked at the tickets, frowned, then looked back at Wrench who sat down opposite to him on the bed. He took his Glock off the nightstand and was idly cleaning it, clearly not trying to address what he just gave Numbers. Numbers whacked Wrench with the tickets on his knee to make him look up.

_What the fuck is this?_ He signed.

_What does it look like, smart guy?_ Wrench signed back impatiently.

Numbers scoffed and read the information again. Two tickets for the opening of Swan Lake this Friday night at seven thirty. 

_You’re joking._

_Do I look like I’m joking?_ Wrench did joke, quite often at times. Particularly to mess with whoever they were investigating, kidnapping, or murdering, knowing that only Numbers understood him. But his permanent scowl did not indicate he was. 

_Why?_

_Why not?_

Numbers rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to be dragged into another fight. Especially when, aside from this slow job, everything had been going well lately. The jobs had been big, so the money was too, and the only injury Numbers had sustained was a small stab wound that was practically gone. It had been a good couple of months. 

_We’re supposed to tail S-T-R-E-E-T until we get clarity. Then we’re supposed to kill him. We need to finish this first._ Numbers was already annoyed that this job was going on for longer than it needed to be. And a little annoyed at Wrench and his weird moral qualms. But he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Wrench shrugged and continued cleaning his gun. _It’s just one night._

Numbers huffed and looked back at the tickets, his bruised fingers rubbing the delicate letters of _Swan Lake._ Wrench must have picked these up while he was out getting groceries. _I didn’t even know you liked the ballet._

Wrench gave a mischievous smile. _I like to keep some mystery about me._

Numbers rolled his eyes again. He did that a lot. _We’ve been partners for ten years, pal, ain’t a lot of mystery left._ He used an exaggerated expression coupled with exaggerated signing on “mystery” to make it sarcastic. 

There was some silence as Wrench finished cleaning and slid his gun back onto their nightstand, Numbers eyeing Wrench. Just when he thought he had figured out Wes completely, there was always something new. 

Wrench met Numbers’ annoyed expression with an open one. _Have you been?_ Wrench signed.

Numbers paused, vague childhood memories slowly coming to the surface. He had been. Once. His parents had taken him and his siblings into the city to see the Nutcracker. He didn’t remember much; he was probably six when he went. It was cold, they took a taxi, he lost his toy car in one of the aisles, and it had been a long and boring show. 

_Yeah, from “before”_. They had a special sign that indicated before Fargo, with the right hand coming back to the body but flipping to a finger gun at the last second.

Wrench nodded, stretched, and yawned, settling under the covers. They were only going to be able to communicate for a few more moments, unless someone turned on the lamp. There was pale moonlight filtering in from outside, but it was cloudy and would likely be covered up soon. 

_Do you even own a suit?_ Numbers asked.

Wrench laughed, a dry, rough sound that Numbers loved. _I have nice clothes. Just cause I don’t dress like the Godfather, doesn’t mean I don’t clean up._

Numbers threw his hands up in defense. _Whatever. I’m just trying to make sure we don’t get kicked out._

Wrench gave a small smile. _Aw, you do care._ He also used exaggerated expressions and motions on “care”, so it came off sarcastically. He wasn’t sure if Numbers knew he did that more often because of him.

_Shut up and go to sleep, asshole._ Numbers signed back and flipped over so he was facing the wall. 

Wrench smiled to himself and gently pressed the sign _love you_ onto Numbers’ back. The first time Wrench did that, years ago, they were recuperating in a shitty motel. Numbers was knocked out from pain medication after a particularly nasty job had gone south. Numbers never noticed. And thank god he didn’t, Wrench hadn’t had the courage to sign it in front of Numbers then. The second time he did it, a year later, Numbers flipped over and immediately demanded what the fuck he said while grabbing his shirt collar, thinking it was an insult. Wrench was thankful Numbers hadn’t waved a pistol in his face, thankful that they had already signed in front of one and other. What they had then was new and raw and they were still getting used to taking care of each other rather than beating the shit out of each other. So they had signed it a few times before Wrench pressed it to Numbers’ back. Not often, but enough where when Wrench signed it again that night, now to where Numbers could see it, he simply sighed, shook his head, and told Wrench he was a sap and to go back to sleep. But only after he had said it back, slow enough so Wrench could read his lips.

Now it was almost routine. Numbers liked to sleep on his right side since a badly infected stomach wound that never healed right made his left side difficult to sleep on. So he would turn over each night, and Wrench would sign _I love you_ on his back. It didn’t always happen. Sometimes they were mad at each other, sometimes their work required through foregoing sleep, and other times, it didn’t need to be said. But usually when Wrench would sign it, he would leave his calloused hand on Numbers’ back, and feel the vibrations of Numbers quietly saying aloud “Love you too”.

*************************************************************************************************

_See? I fucking told you._ Numbers signed messily while smoking a cigarette. _I fucking knew this would happen. We wasted a whole week and he-_

Wrench glared at Numbers so hard, Numbers stopped signing. Even in a cramped ‘89 Toyota Corolla, Wrench used all of his 6”2 bulk to make it clear that Numbers needed to shut up. 

_It’s **never** a waste to make sure that we get the right person. _Wrench signed slowly. Numbers could basically sign as fast as Wrench could at this point in their relationship, but Wrench would sign slowly occasionally to make sure Numbers read every word. 

Numbers grumbled, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Wrench just folded his arms and glared at the window. Another two days of stakeout, they finally saw their target interact with an undercover agent, the two exchanging envelopes in a Wendy’s parking lot. They saw him stuff the cash into his glove box and drive downtown to a seedy bar, most likely to celebrate. Not very subtle, but Mr. Street never had been. Numbers only interacted with the hitman once, some years ago, and immediately took a disliking to him. Arrogant, abrasive, and stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Made sense that Fargo wanted him gone. But Wrench didn’t have that background on Mr. Street, and didn’t have the same lack of remorse for insider jobs like Numbers did. 

Numbers sighed and let go of the steering wheel. Deep down he knew Wrench was right. Especially since he had the personal experience of being wrongly accused. There was no way Numbers could ever argue on that. He slowly inhaled, exhaled, and put out the cigarette. _Okay. Fine. He’s guilty. Officially. Can we kill him now?_

_He’ll be coming back to his apartment. To clear his computer and get any remaining cash. I saw plane tickets and a suitcase earlier this week, he’s not stupid, he knows we’re coming._ Wrench signed back.

Numbers wasn’t convinced, Mr. Street looked pretty stupid to him. Especially at the bar that they followed him to, as he strolled in, with a huge smug grin, as if he owned the place.

_It would be messy to do it in there._ Numbers signed, motioning at the bar. They were parked across the street, underneath a rumbling highway. _We should meet him at his home after he leaves late tonight, we can finish it before he tries to leave the country._

Wrench checked his watch. He frowned but didn’t say anything.

_What? Where you gotta be?_ Numbers signed, annoyed that Wrench was distracted. 

Wrench threw a look that read _“Seriously?”_

Numbers’ face scrunched up, and he was about to sign _what_ again, his palms already opening, when he remembered. “Oh fuck. Shit.” he said out loud.

Wrench unfurled his arms to sign. _Yeah. Oh fuck._

Numbers had completely forgotten about the tickets. He was about to jump on a soapbox, there’s no way they had time to do both, and since this was going to pay them and continue putting a roof over their heads, they needed to finish this job. But he looked at Wes, he was clearly hurt that Grady hadn’t remembered. Wes had an unguarded, sad look on his face, idly playing with the fringe on his jacket. Wes who put up with so much of Gradys' idiosyncratic nonsense, who was gentle with kids, who laughed at Looney Tunes reruns, who could shoot better than Grady ever could but never acknowledged it, who cleaned up and took care of Grady when he got too drunk but never complained about it, and who loved Grady unconditionally. Fucking hell. 

_Wait here. Meet me in the alley with the car in fifteen._ Numbers signed. 

Wrench frowned. _What are you doing?_

Numbers rolled his eyes. _Just trust me._ He didn’t wait for a response, simply got out of the car and walked over to the bar. Fuck. He hadn’t gotten out of the car in a few hours and the temperature dropped. He tightened his scarf and dug his hands in his pockets as he got closer to the bar. It was just a smidge above a dive spot, no hookers, but still grungy, with permanent cigarette smoke mixed with the stench of vomit wafting to Numbers’ nose. Too shitty for cameras. There was a good amount of people, and loud rock music playing over the speakers. Good. The right conditions not to be noticed.

Mr. Street wasn’t too hard to find. After looking around for a few moments, Numbers went back to the bathroom which was locked. Numbers leaned into the door and heard someone coughing and snorting. That was Mr. Street alright, Fargo said he had a habit of taking his sweet time in the bathroom. Numbers kicked in the locked bathroom and grabbed Mr. Street by his collar, interrupting the line of coke he was doing. Mr. Street let out a shriek before Numbers knocked his head into the sink, rendering him unconscious. Numbers panted, and caught his breath, as he listened to see if anyone had noticed. Just as he was about to finish the job, a young man walked in. Shit. 

“Oh my god, is he okay?” the stranger asked Numbers, as he pulled out his phone. Nice looking kid, few questionable tattoos and piercings, but he didn’t smell nearly as bad as most of the other patrons. He was really going to mess up Numbers’ night.

“Who, Barney?” Numbers replied smoothly, ignoring the pounding in his chest and the urge to reach for his pistol. Instead, he settled on grabbing Mr. Streets’ arms, propping him up. “Poor bastard’s had one too many. And has been deep in blow. He’s knocked out, but me and a friend are taking him home.”

The young man nodded, and Numbers was thanking whoever was up there watching that he got a naive one. He still had his phone out though. “Do you need me to call 9-1-1?”

“Nah, he doesn’t have any insurance, can’t afford a hospital ride.” _Put the phone away, put the phone away._ Plus, if I’m being honest with you, this isn’t the first time he’s pulled this kind of shit. He’ll be fine, just needs to sleep it off before the wife gets home, you know?”

The young man smiled and slipped his phone back in his pocket. “I hear that.” _God, were all men really this stupid?_ “Anything I can do to help?”

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing him, I’m gonna grab the back door. My leg’s been off since the change in weather, can’t really lift with it.” 

“Sure,” the young man said as he eagerly slid an arm underneath the unconscious Mr. Street and began hoisting him up. Thank fuck Mr. Street had no hair, no weight, and was all of five foot and six inches.

“You’re too kind.” Mr. Numbers said, giving the kid a trademark unsettling smile. He left the bathroom and checked the narrow hallway. After waiting for a bartender to be out of sight, he opened the back door of the bar, a cold gust of air rushing it, and found Wrench standing next to the parked car out back with the trunk wide open.

“Shit.” 

_What?_

“Close the goddamn trunk.” _Close the goddamn trunk._

Wrench looked confused but saw the stranger bringing Mr. Street out and quickly slammed the trunk. Numbers grinned back at the stranger, and while normally he used his demeanor to intimidate others, he hoped his smile put the young man at ease. Unfortunately, Wrench thought he looked like a rabid chimpanzee. Wrench quickly went over and took Mr. Street from the young man, giving him a much kinder smile and put him in the car, gently placing him in the backseat. He even put a seatbelt on him, Numbers could kiss him.

“Thank you so much for your help, Barney and I really appreciate it,” Numbers said to the young man.

“No problem, happy to help. I used to be in those situations all the time back when I was doing heavy shit, I understand.” the stranger said happily, although he did throw an uneasy glance at Wrench who was now pointing at his watch to Numbers without signing anything. He waved him off.

“Here,” Numbers said, digging out a ten and handing it to the young man. “It’s not much but go buy yourself a drink.”

“Shit, man, thanks.” the stranger said, eagerly taking it. 

“Just be sure not to follow in our friends’ footsteps.” Numbers chuckled, laughing a little too hard at his own joke. 

“Will do.” He turned around, and started walking back towards the bar, his breath a visible cloud. Suddenly there was a quick, intense _POP_ and the man dropped dead. The cloud dissipated and there were no more.

Numbers turned around to see Wrench holding up his Glock with a silencer on it.

“What the FUCK are you doing?” Numbers hissed, while signing an angry _what?_

Wrench ignored him and popped the trunk back open. He started dragging the kid into the trunk and Numbers ran his fingers through his hair. Shit. They needed to clean this up fast. He grabbed the man’s legs and they stuffed him into the trunk, slamming it. Wrench got Mr. Street and hoisted him over his shoulder, and quickly started slicing off his fingertips. Numbers helped him, before stabbing Mr. Street for good measure in the head, stripped him of his wallet, burner phone, and keys, and Wrench threw his body into a dumpster adjacent to the bar. 

They both got into the car, and Wrench started driving. When they were far away enough for Numbers’ heart to stop pounding, he kicked Wrench so hard that Wrench skidded on the road. Wrench let out a grunt, and pulled over, putting it in park and letting the engine run. 

_What is your problem? I’m driving!_ Wrench signed.

_My problem?? My problem?? What about you fucking shooting that guy? What about your fucking moral codes? What about you fucking LETTING me know you were gonna SHOOT somebody?? I was kind of in front of him in case you didn’t FUCKING notice? What the hell is wrong with you? That guy didn’t know what I was doing!_ Numbers knew that when he was angry his signing got sloppy, but Wrench seemed to get the message. 

_We were going to be late,_ was all Wrench signed back.

Numbers was speechless, which didn’t happen that often. Wrench must have seen his mouth open and close at least twice. _We were going to be late...so you shot a guy?_

_Yeah._ Wrench signed back. _The first act is really good, I don’t want you to miss it._

Numbers wanted to strangle Wrench. But he settled for a hysterical laugh, and brought his hand to his face, rubbing his temple. “Oh my god,” he breathed out. “You’re crazy.” _You’re fucking crazy._

Wrench rolled his eyes. A habit he had picked up from Numbers. _He saw way too much. I like our apartment; I don’t want to have to move again._

Numbers let out another laugh, sounding more like a sharp bark than a laugh. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at Wes who didn’t pay much attention to him, his eyes on the road as the sun started to sink. The last bit of light lit the side of Wes’ face, and Grady swore he looked like this painting of [David](https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large-5/david-slaying-goliath-peter-paul-rubens.jpg) he had seen in a museum once. The proud chin, the somber scowl, the beautiful straw-colored curls. There was a bright crimson mark on his cheek, probably from Mr. Street and the strangers’ violent ends. Goddamnit, even when he was pissed at Wes, he was still so annoyingly beautiful.

Grady took a wrinkled napkin from his pocket and Wes jumped a little when he used it to wipe off the blood of his face.

_Thanks._ Wrench signed, letting his hand feel his cheek, where Grady’s had been a second ago. Wrench started the car back up, and they drove.

Numbers nodded and crushed the napkin, letting it fall onto the car floor. He dug out a cigarette and placed it in between his teeth while he searched for a lighter. Damn, he was always losing them. Wrench held out his own lighter, he only smoked on occasion and kept better track of his shit than Numbers.

Numbers snatched the lighter from Wrench, quickly lighting and taking a few short inhales, letting the nicotine cool him down. They continued to drive in silence as Numbers processed what had just happened. Wrench did the right thing, now that Numbers was calm enough to reflect on it. They needed to leave as few little loose ends as possible, and the guy _had_ seen too much. Numbers wasn’t great at making those decisions in the heat of the moment. Even though Wrench needed time to be certain their targets were indeed deserving of their services, he had these instincts that Numbers never seemed to possess, though not for lack of trying. So he finished his cigarette, and he was finished being upset at Wrench. 

Wrench pulled over to a side road off the highway, and after driving for a little bit longer, there was a gap in the bare trees that exposed a small ravine. They pulled over and Numbers opened the trunk. Numbers clicked his switchblade open (at least that he kept track of) and proceeded to do with what they had done with Mr. Street. It was a bit overkill, but Wrench was right, it would be irritating to have to move again.

They dropped the man into the ravine, Numbers shivered and dusted off his coat, Wrench scratched his arm and they were back in the car. 

_You good?_ Wrench signed, and that was his sort of way of an apology. _We good?_

Numbers sighed again and nodded. _Yeah, I’m good, we’re alright._

They drove in silence for a bit, and Wrench tapped out a gentle beat on the steering wheel. Numbers sent a text confirming they finished the job. Almost instantly he received a date and location for their next payment. It was another twenty minutes until they reached the outskirts of a neighboring city. It was now dark. Wrench drove them downtown, Numbers stared at the passing bright lights. There were a lot of people out, young couples going to dinner, kids and families going to the movies. They drove by quiet bakeries, busy restaurants, an outdoor ice-skating rink that was packed, and a couple loud bars. Wrench pulled them down a side street and parallel parked. Numbers got out, Wrench followed, but shed his fringe jacket. Underneath he was wearing a leather bomber and a scarf. Numbers raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Must be nice being that tall and having that much muscle, Numbers needed every bit of clothing possible to keep warm.

The theater was old, built in 1923, the lady who took their tickets said. It was a massive stone building, with intricate scaffolding and decorations. _Swan Lake_ was spelled out in large block letters, illuminated on the sign. Wrench threw Numbers a smile as he held the door open for him, to which he just rolled his eyes. The inside was full of deep reds and golds, the carpet, the curtains, the shining banisters and countertops. There were baroque paintings that filled the ceiling, next to glittering chandeliers that illuminated the many people entering the hall. There was a soft roar of chatter, people laughing and exchanging embraces, children squealing and chasing each other, older couples wearing their Sunday best. 

“Damn,” Numbers breathed. Their usual mode of entertainment was nowhere near this classy. 

Wrench motioned him over to a coat-check counter. As Numbers took off his coat, he started to make a sarcastic remark, signing _You sure know how to make a man feel special,_ but he couldn’t even finish it before he saw Wes take off his jacket. No old plaid shirts, no blood-stained work shirts, no dirty jeans. He was wearing a dark red button down with a black suit jacket. There were small gold buttons and a little gold rose on his lapel. No tie, but that was more Grady’s thing anyways. He was still wearing his boots, but they were polished and went with his black jeans. He looked…

_Told you I didn’t need your help._ Wrench signed, grinned broadly, clearly very proud of his ensemble. 

_Yeah, alright._ Numbers waved him off as they began walking over to the theater entrance. He was feeling underdressed in his usual suit. _You look ridiculously hot -_ he admitted.

Wrench grinned even more. _Like you’d fuck me right now?_

“Jesus Christ.” Numbers turned a shade to match the carpets. Even though they hardly encountered anyone else who communicated in ASL, it wasn’t very hard to guess what Wrench had signed. Wrench let out a dry laugh and Numbers shoved him.

They found their seats as the lights began to dim, they were of course all the way in the back, their money was never that good. But even though it was a full house, they had most of their row to themselves. The stage was just as beautiful, long columns and cherubs decorating the tops of the arches touching velvet curtains with polished wood gleaming from underneath the orchestra.

The music started to play, children were shushed, and the curtain slowly rose. A young ballerina in a simple white costume with white feathers in her hair, danced across the stage in front of a backdrop of a glimmering moon-lit lake. She spun through the air, twirling, and prancing. Numbers had to admit, it was something else to watch someone move like that. She was otherworldly, she was a summer breeze. After several minutes, another dancer, this one a man, in a dark cape and mask, entered the stage, swooping over towards her, and she recoiled away. They danced around one another until he finally reached her, gracefully picking her up as she raised a hand to her face in sorrow. There was this palpable tension between the dancers as the curtain dropped and people applauded. The first act was short.

Numbers stole a glance at Wrench who was clearly lost in the moment. He looked so childlike, so open and vulnerable. Which was rare for him. The stage lights reflected in his eager, excited blue eyes. Numbers enjoyed the show so far, but it was obvious this meant much more to Wes.

The curtain lifted back up and the set had transformed to a grand castle. Now they were many dancers swirling around together in brightly colored costumes, others miming laughter and chatter in the background. There was a central male ballerina, in gold crown and purple clothes. A prince, Numbers guessed. He danced with other maidens, and then suddenly was given a bow and arrow. A group of other ballerinas went with him as he dramatically began looking for something. Suddenly they moved out to a point on stage where they were closest to the audience, and the prince pointed his bow at the ceiling.

Numbers tapped Wrench, interrupting his dedicated focus. _I’m so lost, what is happening?_

Wrench gave an annoyed expression and signed some sentences quickly that Numbers couldn’t make out in the dim light. _What? Slow down, it’s hard to see in here._ Numbers signed.

_Girl gets turned into swan by guy in C-A-P-E, Prince looks for swan to hunt. Just watch._ Wrench signed much slower. Wrench turned back to the stage.

Numbers nodded and went back to watching the show. Even though now he knew the basics of the story, his mind was focused on Wrench. How was this guy into stuff like this? He made fun of Numbers constantly for things like preferring wine over beer or how many hair products he used in the morning. Why was he into a kind of elitist type of art? Maybe Numbers was just a little jealous that Wrench understood ballet more than him. Maybe he was confused because Wrench loved football and horses and knew how to drive stick and could carve shit out of wood, and this contrasted with all of those. Maybe it was internalized homophobia. Maybe his pride was a little hurt because he thought he knew everything about Wes.

The act ended with the prince realizing the swan and the princess were the same person, and they gracefully danced together against the backdrop of the moonlit lake, only for the sorcerer to spring upon them at the last second, the curtain falling as the sorcerer grabbed the maiden. There was a thunderous round of applause as the lights came up, and the intermission break began. Many people got up and began climbing out of their seats, making their way to the entrance hall. 

_What do you think so far?_ Wrench signed, titling his head.

Numbers shrugged and made a noise of indifference. _I mean, it’s pretty. A little slow, but they’re good dancers._

Wrench nodded; he must have expected that kind of response. They continued to sit, watching other people have conversations or get up to use the restroom. The curtains swayed still, even though they had dropped a while ago.

_Is it weird -_ Numbers started to sign, thought about his question and almost stopped but kept signing. _Is it weird without any music?_

Wrench sighed and rolled his eyes. 

_I know, I know._ Numbers interrupted him before he could reply. There were always questions about Wrench being deaf, mixed with misguided pity and a lack of delicacy from people they encountered in day to day business, but surely Numbers knew enough to stop asking questions like this. _I know it’s a stupid question. But I’m just trying to figure out how the hell you’ve been into this without me knowing._

Wrench looked less offended, and didn’t immediately sign back, considering the question. _I think it would be worse with music for me. I like the silence, keeps the focus on the movements. I can imagine feeling the vibrations of the dancers hitting the stage._

Numbers nodded in understanding. There was a pause, and Wrench flipped over the program, looking at names of different ballerinas. Numbers interrupted again. _When did you get into ballet?_ It was not something he knew about when they were kids.

_After juvie, I got a job as a dishwasher in a diner across from a theater. Used to sneak in and watch._ Wrench signed simply. Numbers knew about the dishwashing job, but never knew the latter.

The lights dimmed as people came back to the seats, Wrench put away the program and settled back into his seat. Before Numbers could ask any more questions, the curtains rose again, and the ballet resumed. Numbers gave up trying to follow the plot, he accepted that there were just some things Wrench was better at, including artistic interpretations and understandings. He idly watched the dancers jump and pirouette and spin, still enjoying the mesmerizing movements of their bodies. His mind wandered to thoughts about Wes’ body. Wes, stretching in morning light, his jaw opening as he yawned and scratched his terrible bedhead. He thought about his arms tightening and twisting, his muscles working as he punched and pummeled a target. He thought about his clumsy movements around their apartment when they had too much to drink, his legs once giving out on him and him sprawled on the floor, both laughing. He thought about the expressiveness of his face, the mischievous grin when he knew a client or target was flummoxed when they couldn’t understand what he was saying, the grimace when Grady stitched up a new wound, the gasp and excitement when their neighbor got a new puppy.

Grady leaned in towards Wes, ignoring his surprised body language, as they now sat shoulder to shoulder. Wes relaxed, and leaned back, still watching the show. The lights were dim, he was warm next to Wes, and eventually, his head found Wes’ shoulder. He didn’t mean to, but he started to slip into sleep.

He knew he looked stupid, knew he was missing the show, so he would try to stay awake for a few minutes at a time. Then he would tell himself he could just close his eyes for a little bit, and then he would fall back asleep. He dreamed of soft moving water, floating dancers, and Wes, always Wes.

Eventually Wrench, nudged him a bit, and Numbers sputtered and woke himself up. There was now another round of applause, as the dancers came back to give bows on stage. It was the end. Shit. He hadn’t meant to sleep through the whole thing. 

_You get enough beauty rest?_ Wrench signed, emphasizing his fingers curling back to his face, and giving a sly smile. 

_Sorry._ Numbers tried to stifle a yawn as he blinked against the now brighter lights. _Didn’t know I was that tired._

_It’s okay, you looked like you needed it. And as long as you can stay awake for a little bit longer…_

Numbers furrowed his brow, as he often did. _You need directions to get back?_

Wrench brought his two fingers together to meet his thumb. _No -_ was all he signed. He got up, grabbing the program, as they filed into the line of people exiting the theater. They got their coats from the check-in counter; Numbers was just tying his scarf when they left the building. An icy gust of wind greeted them as they got outside. People groaned and complained, and children shrieked as everyone hurried to their cars. Fuck it was cold, colder than it had been before, Numbers could see every breath he took. It was a long show, they were in there for a while and Numbers underestimated how far away they parked. He checked his watch. Damn, eleven thirty. Just as he started to ask Wrench if he thought the heater was still working in their car, he saw the man start walking around the side of the building in the opposite direction.

_The car’s the other way, dumbass._

_I know-_ Wrench gave a cheeky smile as he kept walking.

Numbers gave out a huff that physically manifested itself in front of him, but just followed Wrench. He had more fun in bars than Numbers did, maybe he wanted a nightcap. But instead of continuing down the block, Wrench went into the narrow alley between the theater and the building next door. Towards the back of the ancient brick facility, there was a rickety fire escape, that was slowly moving back and forth in the icy wind. Wrench paused in front of it, reached up and with relative ease, grabbed the bottom of it and pulled the ladder down. 

“What the fuck…” Numbers mumbled in disbelief as Wrench started to climb it. Numbers just stared as Wrench ascended, and he was already halfway up when Numbers picked up a small rock and hurled it at Wrench. It hit him on the leg, and he turned to look down at Numbers. 

_What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?_ Numbers signed slow as he could, each word, dramatically signed and drawn out. 

_What. Does. It. Look. Like. Genius._

_If you fall and break your neck, I’m not taking you home, I’m leaving you here. And I’ll pay extra to make sure it says dumbass on your tombstone._

_C’mon._ Wrench motioned as he continued upwards, ignoring the insults and stream of curses from Numbers. Numbers rolled his eyes, sometimes he did it so hard he wondered if they would fall out. God, he was in love with a fucking idiot. He muttered to himself but did follow Wrench.

The climb was nerve-wracking. The metal was freezing and slippery, he should’ve put on his fucking gloves. It’s not that Numbers had a fear of heights, he just didn’t like taking un-calculated and unnecessary risks. Eventually he made it up to the top and climbed over the last railing onto the roof where Wrench was waiting. 

Wrench was over on the far side of the building, leaning on the edge. It was so much colder up here, and Numbers made sure to curse every god he knew as he trudged over to Wrench, passing radiators that blew out gusts of hot air and antennas that hummed. Just as he was picking between kicking or yelling at Wrench, he happened to glance at what Wrench was staring at, and he stopped.

Below was a view of the city, a beautiful scene of concrete, brick and glass, illuminated by neon and fluorescent. They were a good twenty stories above, Numbers didn’t realize how long the climb up the fire escape was, he was so focused on being cold. But it was breath-taking. The flashing of the cars passing underneath, looked like shimmering far flung jewels, the soft din of nightlife noise barely registered up high, the flickering lights of bar signs and restaurants below, the towering skyscrapers keeping watch over the tiny people that moved underneath them, the far expanse of the twisting roads, sliced into the surrounding mountains and trees. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a view like this.

“Damn.” he breathed. He broke his gaze away to look at Wrench who was looking directly at him. They didn’t say anything for a moment. 

_No one likes being stared at._ Numbers signed, half serious, half joking. He didn’t wait for a response as he jostled his pockets, looking for a cigarette. If he was out here in the fucking freezing cold, smoking was the least he could do to warm himself up. He found a cigarette, but no lighter. Damnit. 

_I like staring at you._ Wrench pulled out a [lighter](https://i.etsystatic.com/17055381/c/599/475/276/100/il/67fa99/1649238339/il_340x270.1649238339_s0jw.jpg), not a Bic, different from the one he had given to Numbers in the car. It was much bigger, kind of like a Zippo, but it was made of smooth, polished dark wood. Numbers gently took it, feeling it under his numbing fingers. He flipped it over, and there was a small gold ring carved on the outside with latitude and longitude coordinates. Their hometown, where they had first met. 

Grady looked at it, then looked at Wes, who was still staring at him. Grady knew his expression was open and vulnerable, knew Wes could read him like an open book, and for once he didn’t care. He clutched the lighter, and closed in the space between him and Wes, leaning into a soft kiss. Kissing Wes was like coming home, all familiar and safe and unconditional love. The smell of his skin, the soft grazing of his hair, his cold, calloused fingers gently placed behind Grady’s head, guiding him into a longer kiss, cradling him, loving him. While so much of their kisses ended up becoming rougher and deeper, this one was still quiet, still raw. Wes was the one to break away. They stood there, foreheads still touching, still breathing in tune to one another. Wes took Grady’s hand, touching the lighter and traced the outline of the carved ring. 

_Do you like it?_ Wes signed after reluctantly letting go of Grady's hand, his bright eyes searching for an honest answer.

_I just kissed you, you beautiful dumbass._ Grady signed while laughing. _What do you think?_

Wes smiled as Grady admired his gift. It was so well made, he tested it out, letting the small flame illuminate the two of them. It was so perfectly him.

_I figured you needed one that would be difficult to lose, since you know..._ Wes signed shyly. 

_Yeah, I think I’ll keep a much closer eye on this one. I can’t believe you made this…_ Grady signed, still touching the lighter. There was a silence between them, only broken by a distant ambulance and a harsh rattle of wind. Grady looked at the ring and the location again, then looked back at Wes.

_I fell in love with you then and there._ Was all that Wes signed. Grady knew he echoed the same.

Grady took his hand to Wes’ face, gently, and kissed him again, this time deeper and slower. When they finally pulled apart, there were white specks on Wes’ eyelashes. They sparkled like diamonds against the cool blue of his eyes. It had started to snow, the first of the season. The quiet flakes began to cover the tops of their heads, coats, the tops of shivering empty trees and tall looming buildings.

Grady looked at him, really truly looked at him, thinking for a moment of how many times he told Wes that nobody liked being stared at. He smiled softly, and Wes smiled back. He saw his childhood best friend, now grown, now his partner, his everything, now deeper than words like that. They were tougher and harsher, older and scarred. Their minds and bodies, broken again and again, stitched back together, sometimes hastily, sometimes softly, sometimes alone, sometimes together. They had met in one life and reunited in another. Grady knew he would always exist wherever Wes was. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So yes, I did in fact 100 % fall asleep during the second act of swan lake, I can't stay up late I just can't. 
> 
> i'm princedejah on tumblr if you wanna cry about wrenchers, thanks for reading!!


End file.
